


such a good invention

by driedvoices



Series: Triads 'verse [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-13
Updated: 2012-05-13
Packaged: 2017-11-05 08:10:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/driedvoices/pseuds/driedvoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shelby is of dubious morality and Rachel and Finn and Jesse have lots of sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	such a good invention

They don't _actually_ have sex against a wall in Rachel's kitchen. Not for lack of trying, but Rachel manages to pull away grit out, "Dads. Home at four," and Finn fearfully declares it to be 3:57. She makes a noise akin to a shriek and worms her way out of Finn's arms and runs to the bathroom. He blinks, eyes having become apparently unused to a world that did not begin and end with Rachel's neck. Jesse seems to be in a similar state, leaned up against the refrigerator and panting. Finn kind of likes how his chest heaves, likes that he can hear Rachel running water in the bathroom and doesn't feel guilty for either one of them. 

"You are extraordinarily red," Jesse says, slightly winded, and Finn almost doesn't hear it except he'd been staring Jesse's mouth and when it stopped gaping desperately and began to make actual words, he thought he maybe needed to listen. 

"Yeah, 'cause you look so put-together right now," he says. He goes for an eye-roll but his nerve endings aren't quite working so he just studies the insides of his eyelids, breathing deep. 

Rachel emerges from the bathroom and Jesse stops smirking, because she's chewing on her lip and she's starting to lose her bravado and affect the scared little girl face she's so fond of. She's pulled her hair back away from her face and it just makes her eyes look bigger, wider, darker; for a moment, Jesse falters. 

"Hi," she says, and clears her throat. "Do I look—not flustered?" Finn turns and opens his eyes, lets a smile play on his lips. 

"You look perfect," he tells her quietly, and she has the good grace to blush. 

"Except for the glaringly obvious hickey on your neck, you're the picture of chastity," Jesse agrees. Finn glares at him while Rachel tugs the collar of her shirt up. 

"Sorry," Finn says weakly, and Rachel shrugs.

"Please don't apologize. I'd probably be more offended if you hadn't—well." Her face is bright red now, and Jesse shakes his head, because seriously? Finn is just watching her, mouth agape like he wants to say something but can't, and Jesse is beginning to think that maybe they are more ridiculous than he'd given them credit for. He grabs an ice cube from the freezer and shoves past Finn a little rougher than necessary, and Rachel lets out a little gasp when he presses it against her neck. 

"It takes the redness down," he says gently, noting her reaction with a smirk. 

"Oh," she murmurs, and shivers a little. Finn clears his throat, because this exchange is doing absolutely nothing for the problem in his jeans right now. Then he stops worrying about it, because he hears Rachel's dads pull in the driveway ("Twenty seconds early, damn them," says Jesse) and they all run for the living room, trying to look casual. It ends with Finn trying to keep as much distance between them as possible and accidentally scooting off the edge of the sofa. 

Mr. Berry walks in to the sight of Finn curled up on the floor, holding his head and swearing. 

"Hi, Daddy," Rachel chirps sweetly. 

"I am not even going to ask," he says, and goes to help the other Mr. Berry unload groceries. "Jesse," he calls from the kitchen, "there are to be no fisticuffs in my house unless I'm a part of them."

"Duly noted, sir," he acknowledges. Rachel seems to lose the ability to hold in her laughter and she sprawls out on the couch, giggling manically. Jesse joins in after a few seconds, with Finn still looking cross on the floor. 

"I'm glad this is so funny to you," he sniffs, mock angry. 

"I'm sorry," Rachel snickers into her fist, trying to calm herself. "It's really not—"

"It is. It's ridiculously entertaining," Jesse interrupts, and it's so unusual to see him grinning genuinely that Finn starts laughing, too, leans against their legs and lets himself feel boneless and light. 

-

In fact, they don't have sex for at least a week afterwards. And oh, what a week. Probably the tensest week Finn can remember, actually, and that's saying something when you've been forced to sing and dance and smile next to the dude who knocked up your girlfriend. But no, this was definitely a new and unusually subtle kind of torture, their sudden hesitance, and every moment that he wasn't cooped up in the bathroom with his right hand, every nerve and vein in him seemed pulled as tight as they could go, fearing the eventual snap. 

He figures it isn't as bad for Jesse and Rachel, because they can still be boyfriend and girlfriend, can still get away with kisses in the hallway, with holding hands and secretive laughter, but Finn is the outsider, like always, and the most contact he's allowed is a pat on the shoulder, a casual hug. Finn can be wrong, too, though, because on Friday before school lets out he gets a text from Jesse that says: _bored now. my house, after school._ And that's as good of an invitation as any. 

When he actually gets there and sees Rachel already perched on the edge of the desk, Jesse gingerly seated on the bed, it seems ridiculously easy, and his only concerns are not tripping over his bag when he drops it to the floor and who to jump first. He picks Jesse, for sheer proximity, and he falls back a little bit because Finn has decided that today is not a day for doing anything half-assed, and anything includes pinning Jesse St. James to his bed and having his horrible, filthy way with him. 

From behind them, Rachel makes a soft, surprised little noise that distracts him for a moment and he pulls away (smiling at how Jesse's trying to gasp quietly), notices that she hasn't moved at all. Actually, he wonders if she's even blinking, so he crawls to the edge of the bed and holds his arm out; she gives him her hand and he tugs her down with a grin, letting her fall between him and Jesse. Then it's just a competition to see who can cover the most area, the most expanses of skin to touch, until Jesse's forehead is tipped against her shoulder and she lets out something that sounds like a mix of _Finn_ and _wait_. So he settles back onto his elbows, staring at them with a sense of incredulity that eventually just bubbles up into a nervous laugh. 

"Hi," he says experimentally. Jesse groans. 

"A master of bedroom talk you are not," he informs Finn dutifully, reaching an arm over Rachel's head to shove him, but his hand never draws back. 

"I don't know," Rachel muses, flushed, "he does have a certain naïveté. It's refreshing."

"I was under the impression that you liked my talking," Jesse says against her jaw.

"I do," she assures him, snaking a hand down to squeeze his. 

"Not to interrupt or anything," Finn interrupts, "but, uh. How do we—. This. I mean—?" He looks at them pleadingly. 

"I," Rachel says, and clears her throat. "I think I would like to—watch, for a while. If that would—" She clears her throat. "It might make things less confusing for the time being." Finn groans and Jesse grins as she scoots against the headboard, giving them room. She settles atop a pillow and nods at them, biting her lip, and Finn is still just kind of gaping so Jesse, not without an eye-roll, pushes him flat and swings a leg over his stomach. 

"Your move," he says to Rachel, and pushes his hips down lightly. Finn shuts his eyes, listens to Rachel's sharp breaths. 

"Mouth," she says finally, and Jesse is feeling benevolent today, so he doesn't push for a more detailed response. 

"I wonder," he says, shimmying down Finn's thighs and setting to work on his jeans. "You used to get off thinking about this, didn't you?"

"Take his shirt off first," Rachel snaps, having deemed shyness inhibiting, and Finn has to bite back a snicker. "Be classy."

Jesse obliges, keeps his eyes on her. Finn wonders if they do this when it's just the two of them, if it's always a game of who-blinks-first. Probably, he concedes, and he figures it doesn't really matter because Rachel looks a little unsettled but her hand is inching its way under her skirt and her thigh brushes against his head; he lays his hand on top of her knee, holding her there. Jesse smiles up at them from the waist of Finn's jeans. "You look good like that," he says. His lips drag against Finn's stomach. "What comes next, Rachel?"

Her mouth is open but there's no sound coming out. Finn doesn't even _want_ to look anymore, because everything he needs to know is tactile—Jesse's mouth twisted into a smirk above his hip, Rachel jostling the bed lightly as she. Well. Finn bites his lip and tries not to think about it for fear of coming in his pants. "Oh," she says lightly, and Finn feels her muscles tense under his hand. "Jesse, I—"

"Not yet," he says warningly. "Finn's still waiting." And he is, and this is horrible because he can feel Jesse's breath and Jesse's hands and Jesse's hair and none of it's _enough_ , even when he grinds up against the body on top of his, because all he gets is a quiet laugh and a light kiss on his ribs. "When she says so," he murmurs. 

"Dude," Finn says, mustering all the dignity he can, "play your mind-games when your mouth isn't two inches away from my dick, okay?" He hears a stifled "oh, god," from behind him, and he cranes his neck back to see Rachel, knees pressed together brokenly and both hands fisted in the sheets. 

"Rachel," Jesse sing-songs, "I think he's getting impatient."

"Suck him off," she says quickly and closes her eyes, but Finn squeezes her leg and Jesse nods. 

"Don't," he says, suddenly gentle. "You want to see this, no pretending."

She lets out a labored breath but obliges, eyes dark and heavy. Her legs are pressed together so tight they're shaking a little. 

"Fuck," Finn says, and Jesse takes that as his cue to move; he spends all of two seconds getting Finn's jeans and boxers pushed down around his ankles and his only preamble is a quick pass of breath over Finn's thigh before his mouth is _there_. Finn's breath catches and he twists his fingers in Jesse's hair, clutching Rachel's knee with his other hand. Jesse's playing it up, making dirtier and messier because he knows she's watching; he does love an audience. But that doesn't matter right now, that Jesse doesn't know where the stage ends, because he is warm and solid and Rachel is so close to them—Finn grasps at her skin for the sheer joy of being able to touch her. And then Jesse holds his hips tightly, slides his mouth down, down, and Finn comes with his eyes wide open and his nails digging into Rachel's thigh. 

He's still trying to find his breath when he hears Rachel let out a small noise. 

"Jesse," she says, low. "Come here." 

-

It's not as rushed afterwards as it was at Rachel's house. There's no scramble for the bathroom or watching the clock. Rachel is curled up in between them, Jesse's hand splayed over her stomach. Finn lets his lips ghost over her face and brushes the hair from her forehead. 

"God," he says, breaking the comfortable silence. 

"Eloquent," Rachel teases, and Jesse breathes out a little laugh into her neck. His hand reaches across her to Finn, grabs him by the wrist until his fingers are grazing Rachel's hip. Finn lets his hand rest there, just barely touching Jesse's as he traces patterns on her skin. He could fall asleep like this, the smell of Rachel's hair against Jesse's sheets, the light of late afternoon glinting through the window. 

But he can't, not yet. "What happens now?" he asks quietly, because it's the only thing he really needs to know. 

"Right now, I'm going to go take a shower," Jesse says. Rachel makes a move to get up after him. "There's not enough room for all of us," he chides. 

"Spoilsport," Rachel grumbles. 

"I'm sure you'll find some way to amuse yourselves," he calls from behind the bathroom door. Rachel smiles fondly and turns to Finn, who still looks apprehensive. 

"What happens now," she tells him, taking his hand in hers, "is we try to do this whenever possible. And we don't make mountains out of molehills until it's absolutely necessary." Finn's still biting his lip, but he's nodding, so she assumes the message is delivered. "As for right now," she says and lets her fingers wander up his arm, "we need to find something to do to amuse ourselves. Any ideas?"

Finn bites at the inside of his cheek, looking thoughtful. "Does Jesse have an Xbox?" he asks finally. Rachel laughs and shoves him over, bends down to kiss him. 

-

He's expecting it to be weird later on. Like, maybe this weird twisting in his chest will manifest itself on his face like a neon sign: _hi, I just had a threesome with my ex and the douche she left me for!_ He stops to wonder what Quinn would say, then decides that she's kind of scary and he doesn't need the nightmares. Puck would indubitably offer him a fist bump and inwardly sulk because he still can't talk his way into Brittany and Santana's naked study-time. 

A sharp jab to his arm pulls him back into reality, which looks like this: Spanish. Third period. Whiteboard with sombreros and sayings like _español es para perdedores_ with Schue's grammatical corrections alongside them. Rachel in the seat next to him, worrying her lip and staring at him expectantly. 

"You're not conjugating," she whispers. "Why aren't you conjugating?"

"Because I can't speak Spanish and I feel like everybody's _watching_ ," he answers truthfully. 

She lets out a little sigh. "Nobody's watching you, Finn."

"But it feels like they are!" Finn says in hushed tones. "It's like everybody can just look at me and know that—" He looks down and sees her cardigan-clothed arm, just barely touching his. Horror strikes. "Oh, god, I've seen you _naked_."

"Finn," she says, exasperated. "No one knows that other than us. Look around."

He does. He sees Brittany, brow knit in conversation, working diligently on her assignment, Santana in the seat behind her, toying with her hair. Across the room, Jacob Ben Israel stares at them enviously. In front of him, Kurt and Mercedes are zoning out in tandem, like they're so on the same wavelength that they can telepathically space out together. Kurt catches his eye and offers him a small smile, while Mercedes feigns falling asleep. Schue, oblivious to all, is grading papers at his desk, sneaking glances at the door like he's waiting on someone. Probably Ms. Pillsbury. 

"See?" Rachel says. "It's just us. Now come here so I can help you with this." He obliges and scoots closer, watching Rachel's hair fall to one side as she leans over and drags her pencil lightly over his paper. _Yo amaba, tú amabas, nosotros amabámos._

-

They're already in their usual seats when Jesse walks in the cafeteria, much in the manner of a cat who's discovered a rat's nest. He leans in close to Rachel's ear before he sits down, murmuring a quick "hi, beautiful," before he takes his place at her right. 

"Restrain yourself, please," Quinn says across the table in fond disgust. "I'm trying to eat and it's hard enough to keep anything down without you triggering my gag reflex."

" _I_ could trigger it," Puck offers. Tina punches him on the arm lightly. 

"I, for one, have completely lost my appetite," Kurt says with a grimace; Rachel nods her agreement. Jesse opens his mouth to contribute just as his ringtone starts to sound from his pocket. He checks the display and makes a face. 

"Business call?" asks Finn wryly. 

"I'm a busy man, Hudson," he replies, hitting 'ignore'. "As a matter of fact, I think I'm going to head to the choir room and brush up on some Debussy. Rachel, care to join me?"

She nods. "Why don't you come, too, Finn?" she asks innocently. "Your dancing is still largely unsatisfactory, and if Jesse's going to be playing the piano, I can use some of my ballet training to your advantage."

"Gee, Rach, tell me how you really feel," he says, but he follows her out of the room. 

"Don't forget your tutu!" Puck calls after him; Finn doesn't even bother to turn around. 

"Man," Puck says. "Am I losing my stuff?"

"You never had any," Quinn says. She pats his arm sympathetically.

-

Jesse is smugly proud that he remembered _Rêverie_ in its entirety and his fingers move leisurely against the keys. He's a bit perturbed, though, that Rachel and Finn have gone from dancing to grinding to having sex atop the piano and are too preoccupied to laud his musical prowess. 

"Really," he murmurs, missing a flat as he watches Rachel's mouth fall open. "No one appreciates art these days."

(His phone, having been switched to vibrate, buzzes insistently against his leg; he dutifully ignores it). 

-

"You certainly seem to be in higher spirits lately, Finn," says Ms. Pillsbury as he holds open the door for her. 

Finn shrugs. "Just dealing with everything better, I guess."

"Yes, well," she says, and sets her box of pamphlets on her desk to start sorting through it. "It's good for a boy your age to have something cathartic." 

"Uh, I don't have heart problems, Ms. P," he says with a quizzical look. 

"Not cardiac, cath—what I meant is something to channel your feelings into, to take the edge off." 

He sort of wonders why she didn't just say that, but he doesn't push it because it gets him thinking of Rachel and her very white teeth and the bite-mark on his chest and how Jesse sort of licked at it yesterday and he just smiles. 

"Yeah," Finn says, deadpan. "I think playing Halo is really helping me cope with my aggression."

"That's nice," she says, not catching on. He doesn't blame her because she's staring out the window at Mr. Schue, who's giving some poor freshman a write-up for cursing in the hallway. Ms. Pillsbury notices his staring and jerks her head back down to her pamphlets. 

"So, did you hear that Mr. Schuester's divorce went through?" he asks conversationally. 

"Did it? That's very interesting. Good for him," she says hurriedly, not looking up. 

Adults. And they're supposed to be guiding _him_.

-

"You know, I bet this number would have much more thematic resonance if we used more glitter," Rachel pipes up halfway through practice. 

"Glitter?" Schue says, unconvinced. 

"Glitter," she confirms. "Studies show that there's a direct trend between visual and aural stimulation. If we catch the audience's proverbial eye, they'll be more prone to listen!"

"Also more prone to epileptic fits," Kurt says drily, sitting down cross-legged. 

"So it's settled: we need glitter. I'll just run to the art room and grab some." She practically vaults off the stage. 

"I'll go with you," Finn and Jesse say at the same time. The three of them are gone within ten seconds. 

"Anybody else think it's a little creepy how much time they've been spending together?" Puck asks the room. 

"Well, I think it shows a certain maturity that Jesse can refrain from beating up anyone who so much as looks at his girlfriend," Quinn says pointedly. 

"Look, he was staring at your tits, okay?"

Kurt snorts. " _I've_ been staring at her tits. It's kind of hard not to, they're huge." Tina nods in agreement.

Puck thinks. "That does make me feel a little bit better."

"Do you _really_?" Artie asks Tina. "That's kind of hot."

Schue clears his throat in the mic. "Alright, we need to start singing again. Because you have _no_ idea how much I don't want to be present for this conversation."

"He's just mad that he's too much of a pussy to get with Ms. Pillsbury," Puck grumbles. 

"I heard that."

-

"I love it when you talk," Finn says with a groan. Rachel makes a delighted noise in her throat. Jesse hums in affirmation and drops to his knees, which is not an easy task in a janitor's closet occupied by two people and a baby giant. Apparently it's roomy enough to get the job done, because Finn is starting to shiver. 

"Not to sound ungrateful," Rachel says in between Finn's myriad fluttery kisses, "but as the one who thought up our excuse, I'm seeing little gratification come my way." She's almost _pouting_. It would be funny if it weren't kind of hot. 

"Want me to tell you what we're going to do to you later?" Finn pants. 

Rachel smiles. 

-

(What they do to her later is completely exploit her hitherto unknown love of chocolate.

"I don't understand why it's so erotic to you two," she complains, wriggling a little. "Every girl loves chocolate."

"You need to stop moving. It was really hard to find vegan chocolate syrup and you're letting it drip all over the place."

"All I'm saying," she continues, "is that it's so _common_. I also love wheatgrass smoothies, isn't that much more—exotic?" She ends in a shudder, letting her eyes fall closed. 

Finn pauses in licking the underside of her breast and wrinkles his nose. "Yeah, but kind of not as hot."

"Well, that all depends," says Jesse evenly as Finn settles himself between her legs. "What are your thoughts on caramel?")

-

When Rachel thinks about it, she'd understand if it were just about the sex. They're both teenage boys, no matter how adept Jesse is at hiding it, and she is (in Suzy Pepper's opinion, anyway) a marginally attractive young ingénue. But the thing that never fails to amuse her is that there are times when sex doesn't even factor into it. 

Like Wednesday, in the hallway, she gets slushied by Karofsky on the way to Geometry. It's happened before, obviously, but not recently, and of course he has to do it when she is wearing her white sweater, and she'll never be able to get the stain out. Quinn yells down the hallway and Jesse and Finn come running. Puck comes, too, but that's just because he likes to fight. Basically Finn holds him and Puck punches, while Jesse finds new and inventive curses to berate him with. Quinn ushers Rachel into the girl's room and starts to mop up the sticky grape mess.

Finn comes in not long after to relieve Quinn of her duties. "What happened?" she asks before she leaves. 

"Ms. Sylvester broke it up. I think Puck and Karofsky are both in tears." She cackles all the way to her locker. 

"Hey," he says, bracing his arms on the sink.

"Hi," Rachel says and gives him a grape-flavored smile. 

"We kicked his ass, just so you know."

"That was totally unnecessary," she chides. "I'm just going to have to ask Noah to steal his lunch money so I can buy a new sweater." She gets a laugh for that. 

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. 

"Not your fault. I know my place on the food chain." 

Finn looks at her in something like disbelief before he leans over and kisses her on the nose. "You want to skip the rest of the day?" 

"Very much so."

He sends Jesse a quick text telling him they'll be at Rachel's before they sneak out the fire door with the broken alarm. Finn takes a moment to appreciate the recent budget cuts before Rachel urges him out. 

Jesse gets there not long after they do, smiling when he sees them curled into each other on the bed. 

"Miss me?" he asks quietly, slipping in beside Rachel. She murmurs an affirmative, watches as Finn leans over her to kiss Jesse hello. He pulls away quickly, looking down to check his phone. Finn groans. 

"Will you stop with that?"

Jesse gives him a look that would be scary if Finn hadn't seen it a million times before. "From Puck," he says, hands the phone over for them to read the text. 

_yo q says to tell you thanks for completely emasculating karofsky whatever that means. i just wanted to say that that was the best verbal bitchslap ive seen all year._ Rachel laughs and twists toward his chest. "My knight in shining armor," she says with a smirk. 

"You're a bit sticky," he says, making a face. "Gonna change your clothes sometime today?"She gives an overdramatic sigh and shifts to get up but Finn is unrelenting, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist and burrowing into the curve of her neck. 

"I'm comfortable," he says by means of explanation, and Jesse is totally not lying with them if it means getting grape syrup all over him so he rolls his eyes and goes to Rachel's closet to dig out a pair of pajamas. 

"Lazy," Rachel says affectionately and kisses the underside of Finn's jaw. He nods in agreement. 

Jesse comes back with an oversize t-shirt and a question: "Why in god's name do you have a _catsuit_?" 

It takes five entire minutes for Rachel to stop giggling. They decide to call it a day and get some sleep.

-

Sometime around ten-thirty (Rachel's dads must be home by now, thank god they respect her 'do not disturb' sign), Jesse's phone wakes Finn up, screeching in the shrillest possible excuse for a ringtone he's ever heard. He reaches over to the nightstand and grabs it, muttering swears under his breath. Bleary-eyed, he gives the screen a brief glance ( _why the fuck aren't you answering my calls st. james_ ) before he hits the power button and tosses it to the floor.

-

"Would you just _look_ at them?"

"It's so obvious."

"Who do they think they're fooling?"

Schue and Ms. P are 'having administrative discussions' in the hallway, while the glee club looks on in a sort of embarrassment by proxy. 

"They're so tactless," Mercedes says with a shake of the head. 

"But so cute," Rachel adds, slipping her arm through Jesse's. 

Finn almost agrees. "We should help them," he says, leans backward to look at Rachel and Jesse. "But seriously. We should."

"Okay, okay, settle down." Schuester makes a vague gesture that either means _stop talking_ or _stop criticizing my love-life when I'm out of earshot_. "We've got to kick it up for Regionals, you guys. And do you know how we're gonna do it?"

"Sabotaging the other teams," Santana says with a knowing nod. 

"Not quite," he says, with a worried look. "No, we're going to highlight the one thing in this room that everyone has plenty of: individuality."

Schue's master plan is to keep their ballad a duet and give everyone a miniature solo on the ensemble. The song is "I Got Life" from Hair, which Finn has never heard but it's catchy enough. Jesse is impressed. It's a risk; it'll highlight their weaknesses and make them vulnerable. But it's bold, and it's a statement. If everyone works to a consistent skill level, they just might pull it off. It might be a win. 

-

The next day, Mr. Schuester goes to get his coat from the Spanish room and finds a bottle of hand sanitizer and a note reading _go for it!_ with a gold star by means of signature. 

-

Finn stares at Kurt's half of the bathroom like somebody would stare at a dirty magazine or a murder weapon. There's just so many little powders and creams and _brushes_ , some of which are really sinister looking, and he just doesn't quite know what to do about it. He grabs a little case of powder that looks kind of close to the color of his face (he kind of has a tan, it could work), and starts rubbing it furiously onto the red spot on his neck. 

The door opens with a click. Kurt blinks. 

"Um," Finn swallows, and quickly drops his hands. "I could have been naked, you know."

"Why are you rubbing bronzer onto a hickey?"

"It would have worked if I had a tan!" he argues. And subsequently realizes that he sounds like a total fucking moron. "Could you, uh."

Kurt gives a long-suffering sigh. "Yes." He grabs a tube from the sink and pulls Finn down by his shoulders. "I'd say," he muses, dabbing concealer against Finn's neck, "that you're more of a Peach than a Diavolina, anyway."

"You do know that I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about, right?"

"I sort of came to terms with it after our first conversation." 

"Oh."

"How'd you get this, by the way? I mean, if you want to take your own life in your hands and mess around with Rachel again, that's your business—"

"It wasn't Rachel," Finn says quickly, and, thinking better of it, declines to elaborate. 

"I see," Kurt says, tight-lipped. 

"I didn't think he—um. Nothing."

"You're finished." Kurt interrupts lamely. He caps the concealer and turns to the mirror, busying himself with fixing his hair. "You'd better hurry up and get ready, or we'll be late again."

"Yeah. Thanks for that, man."

"It's what I'm here for," he says dully to the empty bathroom. 

-

She's lying on her stomach on his bed, Finn snoring placidly beside her while Jesse digs in his discarded jeans for his phone. She props her chin up on her hands and eyes him lazily, mostly admiring his body but also wondering what, exactly, is so important that it drove him out of their comfortable tangle of limbs. 

"Who do you keep texting lately?" Rachel asks curiously. 

He gives a smile over his shoulder, not exactly meeting her eyes as he slides out the keyboard of his phone. "It's no one."

"Obviously it's _not_ no one," she says, arching an eyebrow. 

"Rachel," he sighs, but there's amusement in it. "Understandably I've been a bit—distracted for the past couple weeks. And I've been neglecting a few old friendships that I shouldn't have. That's all." She looks unconvinced. "I mean it. Just a few drama queens not used to being out of the spotlight."

"I completely sympathize," she says, cracking a grin. He sets his phone down and comes back to lay beside her, kissing the top of her head. 

"Hey," he whispers, "do you think that when Finn wakes up, he'll let me—" 

She doesn't wait for him to finish, just groans and kisses him hard. He sighs when she pulls back, and vaguely she wonders why it sounds like relief. 

-

Jesse answers the door at nine o' clock Sunday morning, uncharacteristically sleepy and bedraggled. To his credit, Finn and Rachel kept him out rather late last night, and even someone with his boundless stamina and drive needs sleep ("We're in a bed," Finn had pointed out. "That totally counts.").

Shelby runs her eyes over him discerningly, from the bedhead to the blue-dotted boxers (which are not, strictly speaking, his). Her fingernails rat-tat-tat against the doorframe, making her displeasure audible.

"Don't tell me Schuester's letting you get soft," she warns. "I still need you for Regionals." 

"And so you'll have me," he answers her, mildly agitated that his teacher is trying to have a conversation with him while he's in his underwear. "No one ever said that I couldn't have a free weekend or two."

"Please," Shelby snorts. "You kids wouldn't know what to _do_ if you had free time anymore. I know, I made sure of it. Why haven't you been taking my calls?" Her nose wrinkles, suddenly, and she narrows her eyes. "And why do you smell like sex?"

"Presumably because of my naturally lustrous hair and chiseled jaw, but I've heard good things about my personality as well."

"Jesse," she says, using her teacher face: tightly drawn mouth, chin tilted down, eyes that bore into your soul—he knows it well. "Are you sleeping with my daughter?"

This is a delicate matter. Thankfully, finesse is something that Jesse has in spades. He makes sure to keep his posture consistent; any shift in movement could relay discomfort, and Shelby would surely pick up on it and brand him a liar. He stares up at her with casual ennui and says, "Why do you automatically assume that my smelling of sex has anything to do with Rachel?" 

"You're sleeping with people who aren't my daughter?"

Jesse inclines his head; it's not really a lie, she didn't say _you're not sleeping with my daughter_ , so it's a perfectly honorable response. Guilt-free. She looks slightly mollified, at least, toned down to her usual state of borderline homicidal behavior. He mentally congratulates himself. 

"Let me in," she says, nudging his shoulder. This would be a lot less troublesome if he were wearing more clothes. 

"What if I say no?" he asks, genuinely curious. 

"You don't want to do that," she informs him, and shoves him aside. 

"Were you always this volatile?"

"Were you always this impertinent?"

"Something I picked up on the job," he says snidely, watching as she makes herself comfortable on his sofa. He shuts the door, then, thinking the neighbors have already gotten enough of a show. 

She settles herself on the sofa, looking around for something to disapprove of. She seems almost disappointed that it's spotless, and Jesse allows himself a little smugness. "What are you grinning at?" she snaps, and he tries to hide his smile.

"Not a thing," he says, and sits down across from her. "Is there any particular reason you're barging in on me on a pleasant Sunday morning? I'd hate to think that someone as beautiful and accomplished as you has no life outside her job." It's thick with sarcasm and the thrill of not knowing her reaction. It's a dangerous line to cross, but he likes to tiptoe over it every now and then; it's just teasing, after all. 

"I wouldn't insinuate something like that," Shelby replies evenly. Must not be a good day. 

"I'm not your student anymore," Jesse reminds her. "What can you do about it?"

"You're not my student anymore," she echoes. "You don't want to know what I can do about it."

"Is that a threat?"

"You don't need me to tell you that it's a promise, do you?"

He grins. "I suppose not."

"Good. Stop trying to get me off-topic." She picks a piece of invisible lint off her blouse. "I want to know how things are going with Rachel."

"Fine," Jesse says, rolling his eyes. "Peachy keen, except for the fact that I'm lying to her face every day." _And having a ménage a trois with her and her ex_ , he neglects to mention. "Why do you need her so badly? Do you not ruin enough lives anymore, have to drag your own flesh and blood into it?"

"I don't know why I should repeat myself to someone who won't even take my calls," she huffs. "You're graduating, and being the infuriating overachiever that you are, I can't fail you."

"Terribly sorry about that," he smirks.

"I'm sure. But you happen to be leaving my team without its soloist, and I need—"

"There are others. Amy. Karl. David, even, and he's just a freshman, you'll get plenty of use out of him."

She waves a hand dismissively. "I don't want your flunkies, Jesse. I don't need harmonizing in the background. Monkeys can do that. I need a _star_. I need another Jesse St. James."

"She isn't me," Jesse corrects her.

"She'll do," Shelby shrugs. 

When she stands to go, Jesse grabs her arm. "You wouldn't care if I _were_ sleeping with her, would you. You're using her, too."

"I didn't ask you to do this for your brains, Jesse," she says sharply, pulling away. "If you want to discuss my moral bankruptcy, I can get someone else."

"I'm not questioning your methods," he amends. "Just asking why."

"Semantics," Shelby snorts, and slams the door when she leaves.

-

Rachel strives to keep a positive attitude about all situations. 

However. Being in the mindset of a teenage girl, when Finn turns to her in the middle of English and groans, "Mondays suck," she's inclined to agree. Transcendentalism just isn't as titillating as the numerous other activities she's presently engaged in. Like glee, or ballet. Or group sex. 

Her phone beeps while the teacher is lecturing on Thoreau; discreetly she turns it to silent and holds it under her desk to read the text. _want you._ From Jesse, of course; who else? She turns to look at Finn and can tell by his face that he got it, too. Her screen lights up again. _janitor's closet, after the bell_. 

She is willing to change her opinion on Mondays. 

They hide in an alcove while the hallways clear out, waiting until the tardy bell rings. Finn pokes his head out, looking for teachers or the occasional stoner, anyone who might see the three of them attempting to have sex in a relatively public location. Once he decides that the coast is clear, they take off down the hallway, snickering until they reach the janitor's closet they've claimed as their own. 

Only, to their dismay, it's already occupied. 

" _Oh_ ," says Rachel, wide-eyed in shock. Finn twists his brow into a similar expression. 

Ms. Pillsbury smoothes down her skirt while Schue stammers and finally settles on "Inventory! We were taking inventory. Why are you out of class?"

"Um," Finn says. "Paper towels?"

Ms. P kindly hands him a roll and Jesse shuts the door on the two of them. 

"Why do we even bother coming to school anymore?" Finn mutters. They head for the broken fire door while Rachel tries to recover from hysterics. 

"Honestly. A janitor's closet?" Jesse says, bemused. 

"There _are_ a lot of cleaning supplies in there," Rachel says between spurts of laughter. "I can see the appeal."

"We are awesome matchmakers, though," Finn says proudly, holding the door open for them. 

"Naturally," says Jesse. 

-

In Jesse's room it's not as funny, because Finn is hard and Rachel is naked and flushed and the world just seems like a very serious affair. Jesse is behind her, kneading her back gently while she kisses Finn's neck, his collarbone. 

"I want to," Finn murmurs but stops, embarrassed. Rachel gets what he's saying, though, because she grabs a condom from her nightstand and tears it open. Jesse looks on in interest. "You don't mind?" Finn asks him, just to be polite. 

"Of course not," Jesse says, looking at him like he's crazy. Which, to be fair, is how he always looks at him, so there's no offense taken. 

Rachel is smiling at them, the small, secret little smile she wears sometimes that Finn doesn't quite understand. He doesn't worry about it, though, because she's straddling him and sinking down onto him and if heaven exists it feels something like this. He bucks his hips experimentally, because they've never done this with her on top before; she gives a fluttery moan and grinds down on him, so he does it again. It's barely a rhythm it's so slow but he likes the slide of her hips, the way her hands drift down to his shoulders—he just wants to take everything in, memorize this instant.

For a second he wonders where Jesse is, and he opens his mouth to ask him how he's not over here touching them, being a part of this and drinking in this high, when he feels two slick fingers against his ass. 

"Trust me?" Jesse whispers. Finn swallows and nods. 

It—it's not the most comfortable thing he's ever done, but it's not bad, either; Jesse goes slow, slower than Finn would have guessed. After a while it stops feeling weird and starts feeling kind of awesome, which probably has something to do with Rachel still being on top of him. When he moves his hips down against Jesse's hand, she moves with him. Jesse twists his fingers a little harder, pressing his chest against Rachel's back.

"I need you to say it," he says against her neck, but it's Finn who answers. 

"I trust you," he breathes, lets his eyes fall closed. "Christ, I _swear_ —"

"Okay," Jesse mumbles, half to himself. He draws his fingers out. 

There's almost too much going on for Finn to focus. He doesn't even feel like he's moving anymore, puppeteer-strings arching his back, pushing his hips up and snapping into Rachel. He tries to keep his eyes open, watch Jesse kiss and lick at her back, watch her clutch at his arm as he snakes it around her waist and slips it between her legs. He keeps his other hand on Finn's hip, not holding him still but just using him for leverage; it has the right effect, because Finn keeps bucking and shaking and so does Rachel, Jesse's thrusts reverberating through her. 

And then it really _is_ too much, because Rachel's clenching and shuddering around him and then Jesse's coming _inside_ him and Finn just squeezes his eyes shut and grabs at Rachel's hand until the world stops spinning. 

When he can breathe again, Rachel's already slid off him, lying beside him with a sated look on her face. Jesse is mouthing at his shoulder, smiling when he sees Finn blink. 

"Good?" he asks softly, breath warm against Finn's neck. 

"Good," Finn answers, still a little winded. They look to Rachel for confirmation. 

"Words fail," she says, throwing an arm over her eyes. "Can we go to sleep now?"

Jesse laughs and reaches for the lamp. 

-

It's roughly nine o' clock when Finn wakes up with the worst urge to piss he has ever experienced. Cautiously, he climbs over the mesh of bodies, trying not to wake anyone. Rachel gives him a little one-eyed glare when he steps on her thigh by accident, but she just curls tighter around Jesse to compensate. 

Business done, he starts to search the bedroom for his boxers in a misguided attempt at modesty. He lets out a little 'a-ha!' of victory when he finds them strewn over the desk chair. Jesse's phone is underneath, buzzing urgently with three unread messages. Finn pulls his boxers up around his hips, hazarding a glance at the sleeping bodies behind him, and quietly says, "Fuck it."

He grabs the phone and, consoling himself with the fact that if it were anything really private Jesse would've locked his messages, he hits 'inbox'. His eyes turn hard. 

"What the fuck?" he says, crossing the room in two bounds and shaking Jesse awake rather savagely. "What the everloving _fuck_ is your problem?"

"I can think of a few at the moment," Jesse replies blearily, shooting him a sleepy glare as Rachel sits up, asking, "Finn?"

"He sold us out, Rachel," Finn says bitterly. "He fucked us all over." He tosses the phone to her and she catches it, scrolling through the texts. Her eyes grow wide. 

"Jesse," she says softly, "what is that?"

"What it looks like," he says, clipped and calm. His face is completely blank.

"You—my _mother_? Jesse, how—" she doesn't finish her question, just covers her mouth with her hand, looking pissed and hurt and violated. 

"They wanted to take down glee and steal you so they wouldn't have a chance of losing Regionals," Finn says, murderous. "I can't fucking _believe_ you. Are you even going to pretend that you're not an evil son of a bitch?" He races around the room, picking up articles of clothing and shoving them on haphazardly. 

"You can read, Finn. You're more than capable of deciding that for yourself," Jesse says with a shrug. 

"Finn," Rachel says quietly, pulling her dress over her head. "Let's go."

"Yeah," Finn says, breathing hard and staring at Jesse for some kind of explanation. He throws an arm around her shoulders and shepherds her out. 

-

Jesse's transfer goes through the next day. Aside from the empty spot in their choreography and the chill that runs through Rachel's chest, it's like he was never there.

The club reacts half with grief and half with threats of violent retribution. 

"Turncoat," Kurt says scathingly, while Puck and Santana offer to kick his ass. Schuester has a really hard time keeping everyone focused on reworking their number for Regionals that day. 

"I thought he was nice," Brittany says, crestfallen, and Santana squeezes her hand. 

"We don't need him," Finn says fiercely. "We were fine before, we'll be fine again."

"Yeah, man," Mike grimaces, "but I kind of liked being awesome, instead."

-

Rachel is flipping through Sondheim at the library. Briefly, she imagines Finn with an old-fashioned razor and shudders; although, she reasons, she could pull off the period clothing and the accent without a hitch. She scoots down to the Rs before any murderous fantasies overtake her. She's got her hand on _Oklahoma!_ when she feels a warm gush of air at her neck that indicates someone standing extremely close behind her. 

"Hey," he whispers. Instinctively she flattens herself against the bookshelf. "You've already got music to work on."

"I needed a distraction," she says, shutting her eyes. "I'd be well within my rights to turn around and slap you, you know. Among other things."

"You would," he acquiesces. "It's so quiet in here, though. Let's not ruin it, hm?"

"You really are a disgusting excuse of a human being. Did you fake it from the very beginning?"

"Rachel," Jesse says. She can't tell if it's a warning or a plea.

"Why bring Finn into this? She only asked you to get me on Vocal Adrenaline."

A pause. "I'll see you at Regionals." He reaches around her and tugs at the book in her hand, pulls it into view. Their fingers overlap. "You'll be amazing. But you know that already. I don't see you as much of a Laurey, though. Stick with the Sondheim."

He presses the smallest of kisses to the base of her neck and then he's gone. Rachel stays rigid and still for about ten seconds, then slumps against the bookcase, exhaling a breath she didn't know she'd held. 

-

"This is weird," Finn grumbles sleepily, cramming himself into the tiny back seat of the bus. Rachel yawns her agreement from across the aisle, looking drowsy and nearly human in sweats with her hair loose. It is a true testament to the insanity of today that even _Rachel_ isn't awake yet; obviously the magical glee club gods of Ohio like waking kids up irrationally early. 

"He's a douche, but." Finn stares out the window. "We needed him to win."

Rachel pulls her knees up to her chest and shrugs. "We needed him," she echoes.

"What he did was horrible."

"I'm not saying we should instantly forgive him."

"Good. Because I don't plan on it."

"I don't think he does, either."

"…you can sit over here if you want to, you know. There's room."

"I know," Rachel says. She doesn't move. 

"How are you even considering this?"

She rubs at her temples, and suddenly she looks very old. "Finn, what part of this year hasn't been deeply rooted in lying or manipulation or some other form of deception? Tina faked a stutter. The first time you kissed me, you were dating Quinn. Up until a few weeks ago, you thought she was having your _child_."

"That doesn't have anything to do with anything," Finn says quickly.

Rachel blinks. "I'm just thinking. Don't worry about it, okay?"

"Whatever."

"Hey," she says, spreading her arms. "Come here."

"Alright, guys!" Schue calls, chipper and already highly caffeinated. "We've got a pretty long bus ride ahead of us, so I was thinking that maybe we could work a little bit on the closer—"

"If you think you got me up at the ass crack of dawn to _sing_ ," Puck begins, but he's silenced when Quinn reaches up and hits him weakly on the chest. 

"Shut _up_ ," she says, burrowing into his shoulder. "I'm trying to sleep."

-

"Are you ready?" Shelby asks him during warm-up. He almost snorts. She looks vaguely ridiculous, wearing sunglasses not only inside but in a dimly lit room, her black dress standing out against the mélange of grey and white sweatpants. 

"Of course," he says smoothly. He doesn't venture out among the rest of the team, stretching and humming to themselves. He stays at her side, a loyal lapdog. 

"Jesse," she says, again with this tone like every word out of her mouth is of dire importance, "this is your last year."

"I'm aware."

"If you mess this up, we don't go to Nationals. No perfect record to go to college with you."

"Yes, Ms. Corcoran, I was able to piece that together on my own."

"I was just making sure we were on the same page," she says, readjusting in her chair. "I wouldn't want you laboring under the delusion that any _feelings_ you might have developed would excuse a subpar performance."

Jesse stares at her blankly before barking out a laugh. "I am so glad you gave her up. The day I see a child reared by you and still able to function like a normal human being is the day I know I've gone completely insane." He stands up, heading for Amy who is stretching her quads with the shakiest balance he's ever seen.

Shelby's gaze is calculating and the slightest bit puzzled, but Jesse doesn't turn back around until they're called to the dressing rooms. She blinks once and shrugs, taking off her sunglasses and tucking them in her purse. 

-

Vocal Adrenaline drew the first spot. "Good," Puck states with venom. "I wanna stare those fuckers down."

"Puck," Schuester chides half-heartedly. "I don't know if you guys should really be watching them. You should really focus on your own performance—"

"Please, Schue?" says Tina angelically. He hesitates, but ultimately nods. So the entirety of New Directions stands in the wings, glaring emphatically at everyone who has the misfortune to cross their path. 

"I don't know if I really want to see this," Finn mutters, gripping Rachel's hand tightly. They're starting to file out onto the stage, every one looking more superior and evil than the one before. 

"Hold on," Rachel says, craning her neck, because something explicitly Not Right is happening onstage. The music's started and the girls in the back have started their muted harmonizing but there's no solo. Jesse stands perfectly still under the spotlight, staring calmly out into the audience. Rachel follows his gaze and sees Shelby Corcoran pursing her lips and steadily turning red. 

Then he just _walks off_. Literally turns on his heel and leaves, brushing past them on his way. Everyone's head turns toward him, gaping with identical incredulous horror. 

"Huh," Puck says, after a beat. "That was kinda anticlimactic."

Artie takes a second to look at him like _dude, what?_ but Rachel grabs Finn's hand tightly and says, "c'mon," pulling him briskly toward Jesse's retreating back. 

By the time they catch up to him, he's nearly at the door. "Jesse," Rachel calls out, winded, "wait a minute." Finn's hand has left hers at some point and it's now clenching at his side. 

"Rachel," he says evenly, "I really don't think—"

"You're an idiot," she interrupts. "You could have beaten us. You would have won. Isn't that what you wanted?" He doesn't answer. 

"Rach," Finn says, low, "let's just go, alright?"

"No," she says, staring at Jesse with determination. "I want to know why. I'm not leaving until he tells me."

"It's not important," Jesse says quietly. He still doesn't turn around. 

"Oh," says Rachel, leaning into Finn, "so it _was_ us."

"This is so not worth it," Finn does not so much say as exhale, like it's a weight he's casting off, and he's turning to go when Rachel says, "Sing with us."

"What?" Finn and Jesse say in matching tones of confusion. 

"It won't be breaking any rules, since you didn't actually do anything other than stand on the stage," she continues matter-of-factly, striding over to Jesse and grabbing his hand. "Change clothes and no one will be able to tell the difference."

"You're insane," Jesse says in admiration, cocking his head.

"I get that a lot," she says wryly and tugs him back toward the dressing room. Finn reaches out a hand to stop them, catching Jesse in the chest. 

"We're not okay," Jesse observes.

"No," says Finn. 

"It's a _start_." Rachel rolls her eyes. 

-

They don't come out until approximately thirty seconds before their time slot, so no one has time to freak out at Jesse's appearance, other than Puck, who plainly tells him that he's going to _fuck his shit up_ as soon as this is over. Jesse has the good grace to look nervous. 

Then the curtain goes up, and it's magic. 

It's strange to hear Mike and Brittany sound so polished, but they're belting it out as confidently as Mercedes, and their joy is the kind that comes from work and accomplishment, the kind that feeds into the crowd. Puck just likes the attention he doesn't normally get, hamming it up and flashing a shit-eating grin when he sings, "I got my teeth." Thankfully, the audience contains a good percentage of middle-aged women who find it endearing rather than annoying.

And Rachel. She's twirling and sparkling under the lights, voice cutting through like a razorblade. She sings around a smile, not because she knows she's doing well but because she knows she loves doing it. Jesse sneaks a look at Finn; his eyes are fixed on her. 

They win. Of course they do.

-

"Rachel tells me that the ass-kicking you were going to receive isn't necessary," Puck says to him backstage, not even trying to mask his disappointment. 

"Thank you?" Jesse says uncertainly, darting a glance over to where Rachel and Finn are talking softly in the corner. She meets his eyes and offers a fleeting smile before continuing their conversation. 

"Jesse," says a voice from behind him, "a word, if you're not busy?"

He winces and turns to face Shelby. "Of course."

She leads him away from the rest of the group, to a stairwell by the dressing rooms. "I could push for your disqualification, you know," she informs him. 

"I see," he says quietly. 

"I'm not going to," she continues flatly. His mouth quirks. "I don't get it, Jesse. You could have had all four years. A perfect record. We were unstoppable. We beat _everyone_."

"Yes," he says. "But I'm sick of winning on your terms." He stands up; Schuester's herding everyone out the door and to the buses. "I've already beaten everyone," he smiles, "and now I can say that I've beaten you, too."

-

They go to Nationals and they lose _badly_. Jesse's expecting it to sting more than it does, but afterwards the three of them squeeze into one seat on the bus while Santana and Mercedes agree that something stupid and involving cowboy hats needs to happen before they leave; it's _Nashville_ , for Christ's sake. 

Finn, whose anger seems to subside with all the speed and comfort of an embarrassing cold sore or poison ivy, decided sometime ago that if Rachel could be okay with Jesse again, then maybe he should give it a shot, too, and now he's sitting between Jesse and the window with absolutely no regard for personal space. He elbows Jesse lightly and smiles. 

"Sorry we didn't win, dude," he says. "I mean, this was your last year and all."

"Mm," Rachel agrees. "I guess you've got to settle for almost-perfect."

"I think," says Jesse with a smirk, slipping one hand through Rachel's and the other over Finn's knee, "I'll find some way to cope."

-

The day he leaves for UCLA, he receives two text messages. 

The first reads: _miss you already <3 call us when you get there!_ The second: _hey i was thinking a road trip over fall break. dont tell rach i want it to be a surprise. thoughts?_

It might be a good year, after all.


End file.
